Sixteen Equals Eight Plus Eight
by IWantMaStix
Summary: Brit and Santana at ages 8 and 16, told through diary excerpts.  Thought I'd try and explain a bit of the Brittana backstory.  Takes place in 2003, from Brit's POV, and 2011, from Santana's POV.
1. Us

**EIGHT**

**9/1/2003**

**Dear Diary,**

_Hello! You better not be reading this one, Lord Tubbington. I don't know how you got that rubber band off the cover last time. _

_Anyway, there was a new girl in my class today! Her name's Santana Lopez. Isn't that soooo cool? She has black hair that looks like the ink inside of my pen. She's super pretty too. Her nose is tiny and cute and her eyes are soooo dark! She's like the opposite of me. She doesn't talk very much and she makes lots of mean faces. But I don't think she's really that mean cuz she helped me with math when I didn't know the answers. She is very interesting and mysterious. I'm gonna be her best friend._

_-Brittany_

* * *

><p>"Sixteen equals eight plus eight!" I cried out. I scribbled the answer in my notebook. When I looked down at my reflection in the shiny metal spirals, my blue eyes were sparkling like two little goldfish bowls. "John bought sixteen pairs of shoes. Wow, that's a lot."<p>

The new girl made a face and stabbed me in the arm with her pencil. "That's backwards," she hissed. "It's eight plus eight equals SIXTEEN."

"Oh..." I breathed. "But I think it's better when you figure out the end before the beginning. That way you already know what's gonna happen."

She watched me as I rubbed a white mark into my loose leaf. My eraser was a hamburger. Not a _real_ hamburger, an eraser version of a hamburger. I switched all of the numbers around and gave her a grin.

"Thanks. My name's Brittany. How about you?"

"Santana."

"That's cool! Santana," I repeated, under my breath. "Santana." I just wanted to say it one more time.

"Ms. Franklin's gonna yell at us," she chided. "Be quiet."

Her face was dark and cloudy. She was a mini thunderstorm. I felt all shaky inside, like how you felt right after lightning boomed when you weren't expecting it. I looked down at my math paper and tried to do the problems the right way, but my brain just put everything in reverse. I bit at my lip and stared until the numbers started swimming. My eyes shut, then opened again, and suddenly they were on Santana.

Her math paper was done. She was smart. She was drawing crooked circles all over the edges of it.

"This is hard," I said, making a tiny noise with my tongue.

She peered at me. Her face had stopped raining. There was some sun on her lashes, dancing down her caramel cheeks. "Here," she whispered, pulling my notebook off of my desk and into her lap. "I'll do it for you."

* * *

><p><strong>SIXTEEN<strong>

**6/16/2011**

**Dear Stupid Fucking Journal,**

_God, it is SO super lame that YOU, a.k.a Ms. Pillsbury, are making me write all this crap down over summer break. I should have known better than to leave that voodoo doll in my locker with the pins still in it. I'm gonna go ALL Lima Heights on Rachel when she gets back from her Brokeback Mountain Performing Arts Camp. Oh, by the way, that was just- as YOU like to say- "venting." So don't think I've got an eight-inch blade hidden at the back of my locker behind my leather jacket or anything, Ms. Pillsbury. Cuz I would definitely never do anything insane like stab Rachel Berry with it!_

_Well, I really don't get the point of this so I'm gonna go watch TV now._

_- the hottest piece of action at McKinley, a.k.a. Santana_

* * *

><p>"Santana?" Brittany asked, sidling up beside me on the couch. "Do you want Rocky Road or Mint Chocolate Chip?"<p>

In her hands were two pints of ice cream, the generic crap that I never touched 'cuz my folks had enough money to buy Haagen Daaz.

"Whatever," I muttered, waving a palm through the air.

I kept my eyes on the TV and off of Brittany. A very fucking interesting repeat of "Teen Mom" was on and I didn't wanna miss a single second. Actually I watched this shit every week, just waiting for Quinn Fabray to pop up in a cameo, but she sadly never did. Huge MTV fail.

"I'm gonna give you one scoop of each then," I heard Brittany say, her cat slippers scurrying off into the kitchen.

"Fine," I breathed into my shirt collar.

The remote was clutched in my hand and wet. Brittany's family thought it was a capital idea to keep the air conditioner off and conserve energy during the summer, hence the variety of cheap pints of ice cream. If they were buying Haagen Daaz instead, I could have justified the thin layer of gross sweat painted between my tits.

"This is ridiculous," I moaned to myself, slipping a hand up under my bra and tugging the underwire away from my skin. "Why the hell do I keep coming over here?"

"What?" Brittany asked, her soft voice nearly echoing.

"Nothing!" I exclaimed. I rubbed my sweaty fingers along Brittany's couch cushion, staring past the TV and into the kitchen.

She had white cotton shorts on and a rainbow T-shirt. Her legs were so long that sometimes I forgot where they actually ended, my eyes lodged on her tan thighs and still heading upwards. When they hit her nose I couldn't help smiling. There was nothing bad in Brittany's face. There was a whole lot bad in mine.

"Holy hell, Brit, you're taking forever and it's hotter than Satan's poontang in here! I needs to get my cooldown on!" I shouted.

"Uh oh..."

"Oh, God, did you drop it on the floor again?" I asked, leaping off of the couch and traipsing across the carpet.

Brittany turned around to face me. On the counter were our two, customized ceramic bowls, bought back when we were on an elementary school field trip together. They both read "Brittany." Nobody made customized bowls for little girls named Santana.

"I messed up," Brittany apologized.

The ice cream cartons were empty and there was Rocky Road and Mint Chocolate Chip all over Brittany's fingers.

"All the spoons were dirty, so I had to use chopsticks," she explained. They were sitting in the sink, stabbing the drain in a peace sign. "I stuck one in and it almost broke. So I figured it would be better to use both but then I couldn't stop scooping so now we have to eat all of it," she rambled. Her cheeks blushed a faint pink.

I sighed, shaking my head. "Here," I said, taking her hands in my own. They were soft and sticky and smelled like too-sweet chocolate. "I'll do it for you."

She smiled up at me as I twisted the faucet in her direction. "Thanks," she whispered.

I kept my eyes on the running water and off of Brittany's hands, holding them and holding them away from myself at the same time. Everything was so weird now, since all of the locker speeches and the lesbian thing and all. She wouldn't touch me the same way anymore. We couldn't do all of those things that we used to, on her bed and then in mine, her moans in my ear as I kissed her neck so softly it was like I might break her.

But I was still her best friend. I couldn't not be hers.

"Okay," I said. "You're good."

Brittany looked down at my hands, lazily curled around her wrists. She pulled away and I swallowed down the sack of rocks that struck my stomach.

It was easier not to feel anything, even if it was the only thing you'd ever really felt.


	2. It

**EIGHT**

**9/12/2003**

**Dear Diary,**

_Wow! Today, Santana came over my house. We watched TV together and talked and she told me about her family and stuff. I feel sad. Her parents don't seem so nice. Maybe that's why Santana's face always looks mean. I'm gonna try and make my mom love her. I'm gonna let her pet Lord Tubbington too. And I'm gonna invite her to my house again as many times as possible. Bye!_

_-Brittany_

* * *

><p>"I have a doll house," I said. "Do you like dolls?"<p>

Santana made another face and looked down. "Not really." Her bare foot took circles out of the carpet. Dark, then light. Light, then dark. "I play catch with my dad sometimes, but I'm not so good, so he gets mad a lot. Then we stop playing."

"Oh..."

I peered into the window of the doll house. Everyone was right where they were supposed to be. Mr. Marble and Mrs. Marble were in the kitchen, having breakfast. Joe Marble was in his bedroom and Vicki Marble was in the bathroom. She was a little fat and she'd eaten too many eggs again, so she had to poop.

"Can't you play with your brothers and sisters though?" I swiveled my head back to Santana, to give Vicki some privacy.

"I don't have any brothers or sisters." She scratched at her long, black hair, her eyes making two rain clouds. "But I don't care."

"I don't have any either. I play with my cat, Lord Tubbington. Maybe my mom will have another baby soon though. This is a secret but, every Christmas, I ask Santa to leave a sister for me under the tree. I've been asking for three years now, but I guess he doesn't have any sisters ready for me at the North Pole yet."

Santana's rainy eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to say something. 1, 2, 3. I counted the seconds. But nothing came out and her lips fell closed again. It was too quiet.

"Santa is very busy," I added.

"I probably have to go home now," Santana answered. "My mom is gonna take me shopping tomorrow morning."

"Oh..."

"Can I use your phone?"

I nodded, my fingers jutting out to poke the door of my dollhouse.

I watched Santana melt into the corner of my bedroom. I had one eye on Mr. Marble, fixing his little striped tie, and one eye on Santana's brown feet. They looked so different from mine. They looked really bright, like they could take up the whole room if she wanted them to. I wished that I could have brown feet like hers.

She held my phone funny. Her fingers were like claws. She dug them into the plastic and sucked at her lip like maybe she was gonna try and eat it. I counted the seconds again-1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10- and then I stopped 'cuz it was taking way too long.

Santana slammed my phone back down on my dresser.

I popped the tips of my fingers into my ears. "It's loud!" I shouted.

"Sorry," she apologized. "Nobody's there."

"Oh..."

"Yeah." She dug her foot into the carpet again, then looked up at me, straight into my eyes. "Can I stay here tonight?"

"Okay. But you can't have my bed. If I sleep somewhere else I get nightmares."

She paused for a moment, her dark eyes trailing me up and down. Then she smiled, and it was the biggest smile I'd ever seen in my life, and I felt like maybe I should have changed my mind about my bed.

"That's fine," Santana said. "You're kind of weird, you know."

"I am?" I stuck my hand inside the dollhouse and picked up Mr. Marble, running a finger down his plastic hair.

"Yeah, but I like it." She gave me another rainbow smile. "I don't know anyone else like you."

That night, I pulled out a comforter for her and an extra pillow. She slept on the floor below me and I fell asleep to the sound of her steady breathing. It sounded like Lord Tubbington's, moving in and out and in and out.

I woke up before the sun did. Santana was lodged against me, her black hair tangled in my blond hair and her thumb in her mouth. I touched her forehead. She was still breathing, the same kind of breathing, in and out and in and out. When I moved a little she made a sound, her lips brushing my arm in a kiss.

"Mommy?" she whispered.

"No, it's Brittany," I said. But I don't think she heard me.

By morning she was back on the floor again. I blinked at the picture of her in my head, growing hazier and hazier like a bunch of low-hanging clouds. It must have only been a dream.

* * *

><p><strong>SIXTEEN<strong>

**6/18/2011**

**Dear Incredibly Lame Guidance Counselor,**

_Hey, it's me again. So, wow, you want me to describe myself in three words? Seriously, Ms. Pillsbury? Wasn't that assignment outlawed in like 1981 for being totally lame?_

_Okay, well, since you insist and I really have nothing better to do (and you insist that I do this or get summer detention):_

_1) hot_

_2) smoking hot_

_3) too hot to function_

_That's about it! I mean, what else do you need to know? Just look at me._

_Screw this. I'm going tanning. Laters, haters!_

_-Santana Maria Shakira Lopez_

* * *

><p>"What did you write? Let me see," Brittany persisted, tugging at my hand and the stupid 70-page notebook that was in it.<p>

"No way!" I pulled the notebook into my chest, smirking at her. "It's private."

"Sure," Brittany replied with a smile.

I unzipped my backpack and shoved the ridiculous journal behind that month's copy of _Maxim_, zipping it up again and kicking it under Brittany's bed. "So I can sleep here tonight?" I asked.

She nodded, as if she even had to answer.

"God, it's so fucking hot, Brit!" I exclaimed, tossing myself across her sheets and wiping the sweat from my collarbone. "Can we _please_ turn the air on? Seriously. Are your parents trying to initiate some new form of Chinese water torture or something by using our own sweat?"

"I don't think they've ever been to China," she said slowly, rubbing at a spot of dirt on her toe.

I made a face at her. Sometimes she was so weird it made me wonder how her head worked. Like maybe there was a little wheel up there with a mouse on it and, when it ran, it lit her brain up.

She came up beside me, resting one palm on my thigh. I looked down at it. It slid up my leg so quickly I had to suck in a breath. And then Brittany was lying next to me, her chin slanted in my direction and a goofy grin on her face.

"What?" I asked her.

"Tell me what you wrote to Ms. Pillsbury."

I frowned, closing my eyes and sighing out loud. "Oh, please."

I could smell her next to me. I could hear her breath skimming my ear. She smelled the same as she did when we were eight years old, like dirt and grass and honey candies. I felt my hand come out automatically and take hers. Her fingers curled in between mine.

Number 1, lesbian. Number 2, lesbian. Number 3, lesbian.

That's what I should have written 'cuz that was the only thing I ever thought about nowadays. Well, besides Brittany, her warm arms wrapped around me and her soft hair on my cheek. I thought about us walking down the hall together as a couple and how my heart would both thump like fucking crazy and soar at the same time. But then some douchebag would come by and yell "Dykes!" at us, tossing slushies up in our grills, and my little fantasy would explode into smoke.

"I didn't write anything," I told Brittany. "I didn't do the assignment."

She raised her eyebrow at me. She didn't believe me at all.

Number 1, terrified. Number 2, loser. Number 3, alone.

I tore myself off of Brittany's bed. "I got the floor, yeah?"

She gazed at me, sticking a finger in her mouth and nibbling. "You don't have to," she spoke through her skin.

"Yeah, I do."

Brittany always slept like a fucking log, whatever that meant. I never really understood. But she passed out as soon as her head hit the pillow and I was left staring up at her in the dark. Even when I slept, it wasn't sleeping. Not like hers. I only had nightmares, but I couldn't crawl up into bed with her anymore and smell her and hear her and feel safe from all of the bad things.

Number 1, terrified. So freaking terrified.

I hugged the stuffed animal Brittany had left on the comforter for me. When I closed my eyes hard enough I could travel back in time.


	3. Them

**EIGHT**

**10/14/2003**

**Dear Diary,**

_Today was the worst day ever. Really, really, really bad. I don't even wanna write about it in here. A lot of kids hate me! I don't even know why. But they make fun of me and call me STUPID and throw things at me. Sometimes they push me down and then I can't get back up again and I start crying._

_Today was the worst day yet. None of the teachers saw and now I have a big cut on my leg. Santana came in like Prince Charming though! She doesn't have a white horse, but she has white sneakers. She punched Noah in the stomach! She took me to the nurse's office and they put some Band-Aids on my cut._

_She is soooo nice to me. She isn't nice to anyone else. That makes me feel special._

_-Brittany_

* * *

><p>"Brittany!" Santana yelled, running across the playground, her bright white shoes gleaming against the asphalt. "What happened?"<p>

I was sitting in a bloody puddle on the ground as tears slid down my cheeks. I hurriedly rubbed at them. It was definitely not cool to cry. And it was really uncool to cry in front of cool people like Santana. "Noah pushed me off the Monkey Bars," I mumbled.

"What?"

She came in next to me and kneeled into my legs. Her dark eyes didn't look like rain clouds today. They sparked into fireplaces.

"He called me RETARD and he pushed me off," I said, sniffing. I ran my wrist under my nose, wiping a string of snot into my T-shirt.

"Where is he?" she asked. The flames in her eyes grew 10 feet tall.

I pointed at the boy with the shaved head. He had a kind of brown skin like Santana, except his wasn't bright when I looked at it.

"Okay, stay here," she said, touching my arm with her palm. "Don't leave."

I nodded and she leaped to her feet, walking over to where Noah was throwing a football to his best friend, Finn Hudson. I blinked and Noah was on the ground! He had his arms wrapped around his stomach and his face looked like my dad's whenever he stubbed his toe on the bedpost.

I blinked again and Santana was next to me, ripping me up by one hand and yanking me into her side. "Go, go, go!" she shouted.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see through my leftover tears. I could only feel her hot fingers clutching mine, the pull of her legs and her hair whipping against my shoulders.

"You're gonna get in trouble," I breathed.

"It was worth it," she answered.

We hit the front door of Glenview Elementary and she pulled me down the hallway. I held her hand until she dropped it. I looked down at my dangling fingers, all alone, and reached out. One more minute. Just one more.

"Your leg is bleeding like crazy," Santana said, turning away.

"Yeah..."

She gave me a little smile and cocked her head. "Come on. I'll take you to the nurse's office."

I stared at her face. I thought, right then, that nothing the nurse could give me would ever make me feel as good as Santana's smile.

* * *

><p><strong>SIXTEEN<strong>

**7/3/2011**

**Dear Notebook That Must Not Be Named,**

_So, I'm sorry for not doing the last assignment and for ignoring this journal for like a month now. I know you got mad about that, cuz you told me I'd better get to work or else suffer your FIST OF FURY (though I can't really picture your fist doing anything but holding Wet-naps)._

_But, see, Ms. Pillsbury, I don't really talk to people. I mean, I don't tell them all kinds of shit about myself that could get out and cause a sex riot. My tits alone are enough to make 3/4 of the football team hyperventilate. I should know. I pantsed Brittany last year after the Cheerios won Nationals and she got me back big time! She "lost" my bra and lifted my shirt up in front of everyone in the hallway. I swear Jacob Ben Israel actually passed out. _

_Anyway, I'll tell you my three words now:_

_1) scared_

_2) sad_

_3) lonely_

_That's all you get. And if you tell anyone, ANYONE, I'll deny this. And I might also still have that eight-inch knife in my locker that I mentioned earlier. So you'd best be careful!_

_- Santana "Sex Bomb" Lopez_

* * *

><p>I'd had enough of the stifling heat in Brittany's house. There were only so many Rocket Pops to go around before your lips went as blue and red as the 4th of July. Plus all that sugar. It was sinking right the fuck down to my boy hips.<p>

I slapped two palms on them and jutted myself in Brittany's direction. "Hey, we needs to get our pool on. And none of that community center bullshit either. Let's sneak into Gold's."

"Gold's Gym?"

"Mmm hmm." I gave her a stained-red smirk. "Come on. You know my dad has a membership there."

"Yeah, but you don't really talk to your dad." She was sitting on the edge of her bed and watching the fan circle the room. When the air struck her face, her blond hair made a tornado.

I smiled at her on the inside, but it hurt too much to dig it out and show it to her. Dammit, why did she always have to bring up the obvious? I thought. I rubbed at a smudge of melted popsicle on my knuckle.

"Okay, you win," I muttered. "Lima Community."

Brittany jumped off of the bed. I almost started laughing. It was amusing how much energy she had, like all of the time, since I could barely stand still on account of the ridiculous lack of air conditioning in the Pierce house.

"I'll put on my bathing suit," she said. "You wanna borrow one of mine?"

I looked up at her. Even on tiptoe I was still a good three inches shorter. "Okay," I answered.

Brittany turned around, digging through her dresser. Out came two bikinis, one of them thrust at my head.

"Jesus, Brit!" I shouted. "You just attacked me with a pair of tit pads!"

"Sorry." She closed the drawer, a blush on her cheeks. Or maybe it was just the unbearable heat.

I bent down and picked up the bathing suit she'd decided to lend me. It was striped, green and black. Yeah, no doubt I'd look smoking hot in this, especially after getting that boob job at the beginning of the year. And Brittany was a lot smaller than me- up top, I mean- so my brickhouse was gonna be hosting a party on the roof. Bang, bang.

When I looked back up again, Brittany was naked and my breath caught in my throat. I wanted to look away. I should have looked away. But I could only stand there, frozen, wringing that bathing suit into knots at my stomach as her long legs slipped through the air.

"Jesus, Brit," I said quietly.

"What?" She turned around in only the bottoms, her bare breasts hanging.

I bit my lip, licking all of the popsicle off of it. "You look beautiful," I whispered, looking down at the floor.

She came up alongside my waist and massaged my shoulders. I could feel everything that I didn't wanna feel. I could feel us lying together in bed. I could feel her mouth on mine and her fingers dipping into my underwear, trailing the length of me, making me say everything I'd never wanted to say out loud. I closed my eyes. TIGHT.

"You want to?" Brit asked, stroking the inside of my arm. "I don't care anymore. You don't need to come out right away. I know it's hard. I just want us to be close again."

I knocked at her hand and slid into the corner. "It's way too fucking hot," I hissed. "Get dressed already. There's a deep end with my name on it."

* * *

><p><strong>73/2011**

**Dear YOU Again,**

_Please forget I said any of that stuff. Please. Just rip that last page out, Ms. Pillsbury. Fuck, I'll do it myself._

_-You-Know-Who_

* * *

><p>We only got in once every half hour. That was how the hottest bitches at McKinley worked it, cooling off then reclining in our beach chairs while getting niceass tans.<p>

Brittany handed me a bottle of water, the cap already screwed off and tumbling towards the grass. I picked it up and sucked back a long, cold stream. Our arms were touching, our still-wet skin.

"This is nice," Brittany said.

"Definitely better than your house." I gave her an automatic wink that I forgot she wouldn't be able to see from under my aviators.

"Remember when we used to come here, when we were little? You were really mean! You pushed that girl in the water. Remember? The one who was throwing clumps of dirt at me?"

"Yeah, I remember. She was a fucking bitch. She deserved it." I laughed.

Brittany laughed back, facing me to grin into my shades. "I liked that."

"What?"

"That you protected me," she said shyly, running her fingers down the ridges of her water bottle.

"I've always protected you."

"I know."

She tipped the water bottle into her lips. I watched the muscles of her neck contract, drinking down the last few drops. She really looked so beautiful then. She looked like a fucking painting or something, all pink and blonde and glowy. I reached out a hand and set it on hers, pulling her fingers into my side.

"Nothing has to change, right?" I asked, my heart beating under the too-small bikini bra. It was drumming so fast I thought for sure she could see it. I clutched Brittany's hand as hard as I could. "We can go back to how we used to be?"

She gave me a sad and silent smile.

A group of flip-flops struck the grass, a chorus of laughter and a wet towel snapped against the arm of my chair. "Lesbos!" the boys cried out, loud enough for everyone else to hear. "Why don't you meet us in the bathhouse? We can take care of you."

I dropped Brittany's hand and jumped up. I'd knock them out if they came near her. I'd slash them with razorblades if they said anything else.

"Fuck you!" I shouted.

"Yeah, you oughta," one of them said, rocketing up next to me and shoving his knee into my crotch. "You bitches are probably great at giving head," he whispered.

"Hey!" Brittany cried out, pulling at my arm, pulling me away from the assholes. "Just leave us alone," she begged.

They laughed in her face and walked away.

I let her hold onto me for a moment then I ran in the opposite direction, into the showers, where I pushed one of the moldy curtains out of the way and sank down onto the wooden bench.

I wasn't gonna cry. No way was I gonna cry. Brittany was the one who did that. I was the one who wiped everything away, who'd made my chest so hard that it couldn't feel anything anymore.

What a fucking lie.

I peeled off my fake lashes and sobbed into one hand, lodging it against my mouth with such force that I could barely breathe.

This was what happened to gay chicks in Lima. This was how things worked when you were obvious about shit, with your stupid gay hands and your stupid gay looks and your stupid gay body.

My tears bunched up into a puddle along my lifelines. I sucked down the salt and sniffed. My eyes shut and I took myself back to when I was little, before I'd figured out what gay was, before I'd had to accept it.

"Santana?" a whisper echoed outside the curtain. It slid open, then closed again just as quickly. Brittany stood in front of me, her sunglasses propped in her hair. "Hey..."

I dropped my lashes on the floor and kicked them towards the drain. "This place is fucking gross. Why the hell am I in here without sandals?"

"We should turn the shower on," Brittany said. "For noise."

I gave her a tiny nod and she reached up and twisted at the faucet. A loud gush of water beat at my back. Brittany pushed herself into me, wrapping her arms around my body as it limped inside her embrace. I'd forgotten how good this felt. I'd forgotten how much I became someone else whenever she touched me.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her wet lips grazing my ear.

"No," I answered.

And, for the first time in a long time, I wasn't lying.


	4. Me

**12/20/2003**

**Dear Diary,**

_Merry Christmas! Well, not yet, but close enough._

_Today Santana came over and gave me a present. It's a necklace with a gold cat on it! She said it's cuz sometimes I talk in my sleep and say- in a very loud voice- "Lord Tubbington, where are you?" I didn't know I did this, but I guess that's cuz I only do it when I'm sleeping. _

_Anyway, Santana also said that I should touch my necklace cat before I fall asleep and pretend it's Lord Tubbington and, if I hold on tight enough, I won't talk in my sleep anymore._

_I thought that was soooo nice of her! I really do miss Lord Tubbington when he sleeps in other rooms._

_PS- I got Santana a diary and some colorful pens, so she can write down stuff too. I wonder what she'll write about._

_-Brittany_

* * *

><p>"It's so cold!" Santana exclaimed, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater and frowning at me. "Don't your parents pay their electric bills?"<p>

"I guess so," I said. "But they said it's better to just bundle up. It saves money. Do you know what 'bundle up' means?"

She turned her head to raise a little black eyebrow.

We were on my bed, wrapped up in two blankets and the comforter she usually used on the floor. I felt like a butterfly in a cocoon. My wings were stuck to my sides 'cuz I wasn't done being made yet.

"We're bundled up _now_," Santana answered.

"Oh..."

"But I'm still cold."

I looked over at her. I was supposed to say "Me too," except that I wasn't. Not with Santana next to me. I wondered if butterflies ever cocooned together. It was probably better for the environment and they also wouldn't be so lonely, in the dark all by themselves.

"My house is big," Santana went on. "We have five bedrooms and all of them have heat! And air conditioning in the summer. And we have a pool too. Our kitchen has marble countertops that are too big and granite trashcans that I have to empty once a week. My mom says these are 'champagne problems.' Do you know what a 'champagne problem' is?"

I shook my head.

"Me neither," Santana muttered, her hands absentmindedly knocking my legs beneath the comforter.

I counted the seconds between her last words and when she would start talking again. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. It was too quiet.

"I've never been to your house," I said.

"Yeah, I know," she replied in her mumbly voice again.

"And you always say bad things about _my_ house."

"Yeah..."

"So why don't we ever go over to your house instead?"

I felt her arm shift at my thigh, emerging from the depths of wool and cotton to scratch a line along her cheek. She looked down, then out the window. I thought, for a moment, she was thinking about being a butterfly too.

"Sorry," I apologized. "Is that a stupid question?"

"No," she said quickly, her neck twisting back in my direction. "And don't ever believe that jerk, Noah Puckerman. Or those other kids either. 'Cuz you aren't stupid, Brit."

I smiled at her, pressing my hip into hers and running my thumb over the cat necklace she had given me. Santana smiled back. It was different from usual. It wasn't like a rainbow. Well, it _was_, but it was a rainbow that had been rained on and gotten all soggy and faded.

It made my chest hurt, like the time Noah had thrown his football at me and stopped me breathing for a little while.

"You're my best friend," I whispered to Santana.

I didn't know why, but I just thought it should have been whispered.

"Yeah, me too," she whispered back.

I leaned into her cold arm and kissed her on the lips, like a boy. I didn't know why, but I just really wanted to kiss her.

I didn't know that I wasn't supposed to.

* * *

><p><strong>SIXTEEN<strong>

**7/10/2011**

**Dear Bambi,**

_Okay, I see that you're super angry with me now, since I ripped out those last two pages and you FORCED me to tape them back in. Did you know I had to drink half a bottle of Captain Morgan's to do that? Did you know you are contributing to underage drinking and possible future alcoholism? I don't think your LOVER- a.k.a Will Schuester- who made me sign that contract during Alcohol Awareness Week, would approve. Although he had his own moment as Count Boozy Von Drunkaton. I'm sure you remember! That phone message? Just wanky._

_So now you wanna know what I'm so scared of? Seriously, Ms. Pillsbury? Seriously?_

_I guess I can answer you in three more words, cuz that's alls you be gettin afores I hit the buffet at Breadstix:_

_1) the trolls at this school_

_2) myself_

_3) my parents_

_- Santana "I Want Ma Stix" Lopez_

* * *

><p>"Brit?" I asked, turning to face her.<p>

I'd totally given up on taking the floor that night. The truth was, I really needed someone next to me sometimes and it had nothing to do with being like a lizard and digesting my food. It was easier to sleep next to her. It had always been easier that way, even with the nightmares.

"Huh?" she answered.

She peered across the sheets at me while stroking Lord Tubbington. I couldn't believe that beast was 14 already, or how fucking fat he'd gotten either! Seriously, he looked like a plateful of popped sausage during a competitive eat-off. Why Brittany kept feeding him all of that cheese I could never understand.

"Do you ever really think about it? I mean, like _really_? Not just 'cuz of what happened last week at the pool."

"Think about what?" she asked me.

I ran an errant hand over my skintight skirt, tugging at it. "You know," I mumbled.

"Oh..."

"Yeah, that. The lesbian thing."

She pulled herself into a straight line, her shoulder striking the wall as she twisted her body towards me. "Well, of course I think about it. I was the one who kissed you first, remember?" The fan blew a breeze onto her smile as she clumsily swept a strand of blonde hair from her eyes.

I reached up and did it for her, tucking it behind her ear. "Yeah, I remember," I said softly. "I punched you in the nose and ran home."

Brittany grinned, swiping at the invisible bruise. "Yeah, but you came back."

"Eventually."

"I cried for a long time though. And I could never get that blood out of your comforter."

"I'm sorry," I murmured, dipping my head into her shoulder.

She dragged her fingers through my sweaty hair, lifting my face into her hands and planting a kiss on my mouth that tasted like honey.

"I love you," Brittany replied. "I've loved you forever. And we know each other. You know I'm Brittany and I know you're Santana and that's all we need to know. So I don't think it should matter what other people call us."

Her palm fell on my thigh, her thumb rubbing circles into my tanned skin. It felt like a defibrillator. Bang, bang. I almost forgot to breathe. I made a noise that forced Brittany's eyes to turn into two, big blue circles.

"People like labels," I choked out. "And I don't mean the kind that come on all the shit I shoplift."

"Yeah, you told me before."

"I don't wanna be gay though, Brit."

I didn't know what else to say then. I was the least eloquent person I'd ever met, and also probably one of the shittiest. I had no idea why Brittany even bothered to put up with me half of the time.

"I'm sorry," I repeated.

She gave me that same sad smile from the pool. I could still hear those douchebags' voices ringing in my ear. I could still feel the water from the shower piercing my back like bullets.

Brittany pulled me into her, her lips briefly closing down on mine again, her nails scraping my spine. "It's okay," she whispered.

"No, it's not. Life freaking sucks," I said, jumping off of her bed and running so fast down her hallway that I felt like fucking Superman. I was invincible and nothing could hurt me. But only until I stopped running.


	5. Him and Her

**Thank you for more reviews! :)**

**EIGHT**

**1/7/2004**

**Dear Diary,**

_Santana hasn't come over in a very, very, very long time. I feel soooo sad. Soooo sad! I really made her mad by kissing her like that. That was soooo stupid. She won't talk to me in class or at lunch or at recess, so I eat my sandwiches in the bathroom and sometimes I cry._

_Lord Tubbington, it's okay if you take the rubber band off my diary this time. I really wanna talk to somebody about Santana, even though you saw me kiss her so you already know. My mom always asks "Where's Santana?" So I tell her, "She's visiting her family in Puerto Rico for a while." And it makes me feel soooo bad to lie to her, like how I lied and said I got a nosebleed when really Santana punched me. _

_And when my dad jokes around and goes into my bedroom and lifts up my blankets and asks, "Santana, where are you?" it reminds me of how Santana said I talked in my sleep and asked, "Lord Tubbington, where are you?"_

_I still wear my cat necklace everyday._

_-Brittany_

* * *

><p>"Hey," Santana said, cornering me in the bathroom one afternoon before lunch.<p>

"Hey..."

She pulled me into the last stall and I thought: _How can your hands be touching me when you're a ghost? _She smelled like a ghost too, all cold and freezery.

She pulled the latch on the door all the way across, the little silver rectangle clicking into place. Her brown face was so close to mine that I had to reach up and put my fingers on it, just to make sure she wasn't gonna fade away into a cloud of glittery dust.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, knocking my hand back down at my side.

I bent into the wall. It felt as cold as her. I grabbed at the necklace cat dangling near my collarbone and squeezed it as tight as I could.

"My parents said I can't hang out with you anymore," Santana mumbled.

"What?" I cried, my head snapping back up. "Why?"

She sucked at her lip and didn't answer.

"You're mad at me," I said softly.

"No, I'm not." She made one of her mean faces, her cheeks clouding over.

A spear of lightning struck my chest. I let go of my necklace, the hot-cold metal drifting out of my hand and I pushed my back away from the stall. There were stupid tears in my eyes. This was so uncool. I was such a loser.

Santana walked into me. Her white sneakers shook the ground like thunder. One step. Two steps. She wasn't very good at hugging. Her shoulders were too sharp and her stomach wasn't soft and squishy like my mother's. It felt like a rock. And she didn't make her arms into a circle the way you were supposed to. They just sort of stopped at the tops of my shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into my hair. "I'm not mad at you anymore. Please don't cry. Please."

"Can we still be best friends?" I asked, sniffing back the tears. "My mom and dad are wondering where you are and, when I lie, it makes my body feel like I need to take Tylenol."

Santana jerked her head, letting me go. Some other girls had come in, their footsteps and their squeaky voices echoing past the sinks.

"Yeah, don't worry," she said quickly. She gave me a tight smile and held up her pinky. "See you later."

I curved my own pinky into hers. Together they made a little white/brown knot. That must have been how Santana _really_ hugged people.

I watched her crawl under the side of the stall. She was so tiny and skinny that somehow she fit. She landed on the other side, opening the door of the empty stall, and I closed my eyes and imagined her at the mirror fixing her hair.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. I counted until I thought it was safe for me to come out too.

* * *

><p><strong>SIXTEEN<strong>

**7/11/2011**

**Dear Journal Belonging to a Biscuit Maker,**

_You want me to tell you more about my parents? Well, I really don't see ANY point whatsoever to this one, so I'm just gonna pretend I smoked a lot of weed and conveniently forget you asked this insane question._

_- Santana "No Freaking Way" Lo__pez_

* * *

><p>I could count on one hand the number of times Brittany had spent any serious amount of time at my house. Seriously. One, two, three, four. Four fucking times, and that was all.<p>

It wasn't 'cuz my house sucked or anything. It was a damn mansion. Well, as far as mansions went in Lima. And it certainly wasn't 'cuz I had a lady boner for Brittany's hippie stick dwelling. I swear, the whole structure had probably been crafted by Indians.

The sad thing was, I was sure Brittany's folks had no idea how ignorant it was to hire slave labor like that. I should have known, since I was Hispanic. My great-aunt was our gardener for a while. My father had her imported down here from Puerto Rico. He paid her in rum and Pepperidge Farm cookies until she had a heart attack and we were forced to hire _actual_ help. I still wonder how my father could have done that to his own blood, but I guess by then he was pretty used to only giving a shit about himself.

Dad... Mom...

See, I would have gladly spent all of my free time in my own bedroom instead of Brittany's, if it weren't for the other people hanging around outside of it.

We sat at the huge kitchen table, me and Brittany in a clot in one corner while my parents silently endured each other at the other end. My father read the paper. The flipped, gray pages whooshed like wind. Beside him my mother filed her nails, intermittently pausing to take tiny sips of tea from a tiny white ceramic cup.

I yawned into my palm. "What's for breakfast?"

My mother looked up and made a face at me. "It's right in front of you," she said. "Luisa made it a while ago though, while you two were _sleeping_, so it's probably gone cold. Pancakes."

_"While you two were sleeping..."_

The way she said "sleeping" was like she thought something entirely different had gone down on my black sheets upstairs. It hadn't. Me and Brittany hadn't done anything. We hadn't done anything for months now.

I looked at the shiny wooden table, staring into my reflection, staring so hard I thought it might start to look like someone else. I pushed a chunk of my unwashed hair behind my ear.

"I want a pancake," Brittany whispered, peering down at me.

"Well, take one then," I answered harshly. "You don't have to ask."

Her face fell and I swallowed back the fire on my tongue. "I'll get it for you."

I stood up and pushed my stomach into the table's edge, sliding two pancakes onto one plate and squirting maple syrup someone had flown in from Montreal all over them.

"Not too much," Brittany said.

My fingers fell, brown and sticky, upon the cap. I stared across the table at my parents. If they'd been any quieter, I thought, they might have been dead. Fuck. Maybe they were already.

I licked at my fingertips, the sweet and nutty syrup gathering along my tongue. My ass landed back in my seat. I set the plate between me and Brittany, one plate with two pancakes, two skinny forks that looked like the sorts of things Kate Middleton probably bought on a Wednesday afternoon.

The steady SCRATCH SCRATCH of my mother's nail file rang throughout the kitchen, the whooshing noise of another gray page turned by my father.

"It's good," Brittany said, her fork scraping mine as we both went in for the same bite of pancake.

I gave her half of a smile, shoving my fork into my mouth and chomping down on the lump of too-sweet, too-buttery crap. It was terrible.

"Santana, you still go to school with that gay boy?" my father asked suddenly.

The noise that came out of my throat then was like a horse coughing up a fucking apple. "What?" I asked, quickly chugging some orange juice.

"He have a boyfriend?"

I watched Brittany's hand with the fork in it stop moving.

"Yeah," I spat out. "So what?"

My father's thick, black eyebrows sunk down to touch the top of his glasses. He fingered the page he was currently reading. "This damn gay marriage shit is still happening in New York," he replied.

"Well, I really doubt that two sixteen-year olds are trying to up and marry each other," I hissed.

My mouth was on fire, my arms falling below the table to hide my shaking fingers. I could feel Brittany's breath at my cheek. She slid a hand into my thigh. It fell to grip my knee, her careful warmth filling my blood and making me feel a whole lot less alone than I actually was.

"Oh, who cares," my mother jumped in, setting her nail file down on the table. It clattered. She held her palms in front of her face, bending the knuckles inward to inspect her work. "It's not like they're really friends of Santana's," she said to her nails. "They're just in the same class at school."

"Right..." I breathed. "I barely know them."

"I'm not hungry anymore," Brittany declared, standing up. "Let's go, Santana."

My parents stared blankly at the two of us as we turned on them.

"You can't just leave that plate there!" my mother shouted. "You know the smell of maple syrup makes me nauseous after a while!"

Brittany placed her palm on my back, guarding me the entire way upstairs.

"You think it'd be really nasty of me to slip some kind of poison in their food?" I asked, laughing. "I mean, like the serious kind? Arsenic or anthrax or something else that starts with A." When we hit the top of the stairs, my laugh grew so loud I legit thought Ms. Pillsbury might ask me to join her for fellow crazy sessions at the shrink hospital. I slammed my fist into the wall. "Fuck, that hurt!" I exclaimed, shaking my fist out into five red fingers.

Brittany took them inside of her own, leading me into my bedroom and tearing open the drawer of my incredibly expensive dresser. She threw a tight, red dress at me and a pair of clean underwear.

"Get dressed," she said.

I made a face at her, then proceeded to inspect the clothes, a still-throbbing finger running over my lacy black thong. "Oh, please. I see what you're trying to do here, attempting to seduce me when I haven't even taken a shower yet." I dropped my shit on the carpet and slammed Brittany against the door, my arms pinning hers there, my hips stabbing her thighs. "Well, fucking do it then. But aren't my pajamas good enough for you?"

"STOP," Brittany said.

And her one word felt stronger than any string of sentences that had ever spilled out of her mouth. My head fell, my eyes on my bare toes. She pulled herself out of my grasp and walked over to the tiny pile of fallen clothes. I watched her as she picked them up and held them to her chest.

"You can take a shower at my house," she replied. "And my mom will make us a really good breakfast. Much better than those pancakes."

Everything in my room was so black. It was fucking suffocating. Who the hell had painted-black walls? Who the hell gave their kid a bedroom with painted-black walls?

I took the clothes out of Brittany's hand and smirked at her. "Thanks. You still want my ass though." I laughed. It seemed a whole lot easier than screaming.


	6. You

**So this is the final chapter! If you have any comments to leave me, please do so! I love to read them :)**

**EIGHT**

**2/13/2004**

**Dear Diary,**

_Tomorrow is Valentine's Day but, 'cuz tomorrow is Saturday, we celebrated today in class. My mom made me make Valentines out of construction paper and give them to EVERYONE, even Noah. That really sucked. _

_I made a special Valentine for Santana, since she likes me again and she is my best friend in the whole wide world! Even in India! And Japan! __I wanna write down here what I wrote on her Valentine. This is based on my favorite song right now, and NO, it's not "Toxic!" I really hate Britney Spears. I think she stole my name._

_Anyway, here is the Valentine I made for Santana:_

_Santana don't mess around_

_Because she's super cool_

_And this I know fo sho_

_Uh, but does she know it_

_But can't stand to show it_

_She likes to punch my nose_

_I can't fight Santana_

_Because the muscles in her arms would kill me right now_

_Uh, thank God for her mom and dad_

_For sticking to-together_

_Cause Santana's just so wow_...

_UH!_

_Heeeyyy... Yaaaaaaa..._

_Heeyy Yaaaaaaaa..._

_Santana!_

_-Happy Valentine's Day :)-_

_- Brittany_

* * *

><p>"Thanks for the Valentine, Brit," Santana said.<p>

We were walking to the bus stop after school, our shoulders stuck together and our arms moving in unison like butterfly wings.

"You're welcome."

"I didn't get you one," she spoke softly. "I didn't get anyone one."

"That's okay."

"You're a nice person," Santana said.

I glanced over at her. I knew what she looked like, but I just wanted to see her again. She was shorter than me and so skinny. She looked like a boy, except that her face was super pretty and she had long hair and her skin glowed like fireflies. Boys' skin never glowed 'cuz they were full of dirt on the inside.

"I'm not nice like you," she went on.

"What do you mean?"

She didn't say anything, her white sneakers moving forward. They were a sort of grayish color now though, and striped with grass stains.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

"I think you're nice," I said quickly.

She looked at me and smiled her very biggest smile that was like a rainbow, and all of the colors were bright again.

"And you're a really good friend," I added. "Like the most awesomest friend I've ever had."

We came to the bus stop. No one else was there yet. Santana tugged at the black scarf wrapped around her neck, her eyes jumping up and down. She touched my hand for just a second. Her gloves were fake leather, but they almost felt like real skin.

"Thanks, Brittany," she said, leaning in. Her glittery, cold breath mixed with mine.

She left a little heart-shaped kiss on my cheek that I could feel kissing me everywhere, in my hands and my feet and my toes and my fingers, for a long time after.

* * *

><p><strong>SIXTEEN<strong>

**7/19/2011**

**Dear Not-Quite-As-Lame-As-I-Once-Thought Guidance Counselor,**

_Hey, it was pretty cool of you not to push that last assignment and give me a different one instead. I feel like you're finally starting to accept the "And that's how San sees it" way of living. Good job, Ms, Pillsbury! This is a total win-win for you._

_So, now you want me to write a letter to somebody, a.k.a not YOU, saying all the things I can't seem to say to YOU? And you're not gonna try and dig it out of my pants and read it? You're not gonna ask anything about it at all? Well, that is just super awesome, Ms. Pillsbury. So, check it. I'mma do this one. Or am I? You will never truly know! Hahahaha (cue maniacal laughter associated with mad scientists in B&W films)!_

_-Santana Lopez_

* * *

><p>"Are you still doing that journal for Ms. Pillsbury?" Brittany asked.<p>

I was on the floor and she was on the bed, her bed, and the fucking awful heat had never felt better. Her legs straddled my sides, her chest pressing against the back of my head as she dragged a brush through my hair. I closed my eyes and let out a tiny moan.

"You're so easy," Brittany said, laughing.

I slid a smile into the side of my cheek. "Yeah, right. I'm the most difficult person you know."

"Yeah..." She paused for a moment to wipe a black strand from my forehead. "So did you do the assignment this time?" she asked. "I bet you didn't."

"How much?"

"Huh?"

"I needs a few extra dinero. Or you could just take me to Breadstix. You owe me. And don't forget your sister's plastic wheelbarrow this time 'cuz we will _totally_ be loading that fucker up."

"I don't understand what's you're talking about, Santana." Brittany patted my head with her palm, running it down the length of my hair. The brush fell on the floor beside my foot.

I stood up slowly, tossing a hand to my temple in an attempt to be dramatic. "Jesus, Brit, the vapors!" I stumbled across the carpet. "Seriously, I'm about to go _all_ Lima Heights on your freezer right about now. I'm not big. I could fit in there. I'm not even lying. I'mma shove myself in between your mom's eighteen-pound bags of corn."

Her eyes made funny shapes that looked similar to Lord Tubbington's. "Did Puck make those cupcakes for you again?"

I laughed and caught it in my throat, turning my back on her. Fuck. It was now or never. I pressed a palm to my heart. It was beating more than when I'd asked Brad to play "Songbird" for me. More than when I'd walked up to Brittany in that long, crowded hallway and it felt like I was chained and I was walking to my death. More than when I'd told her everything.

Except that I hadn't. She didn't know it all. No one did.

I unzipped my backpack and pulled out the journal. I'd written it on the last page. It was easier to rip out that way and roll into a doobie for some quality toke-up time later. I scraped a set of short nails through my hair, dropping the stupid 70-page notebook on the bed next to Brittany.

"I gotta pee," I told her.

I soared down the hallway like Superman, locking myself in her bathroom and collapsing on the seat of her toilet. "Dammit, why the hell did you do that? You are really the lamest loser in the history of losers. You are dead to me, Santana," I told myself, stabbing an index finger into my naked thigh.

God, I was an idiot. What the hell was I thinking? I didn't have to show that shit to anyone. That's what Ms. Pillsbury said. Dear Anonymous...blah, blah, blah.

I stood up, rubbing at my side as I slid into Brittany's windowsill. Curled up in the corner of it was that cat necklace I'd given her when I was eight. I lifted it up, smiling softly at how tiny it was now. "You shrank," I breathed into it. "I don't think you fit her anymore."

I was so fucking terrified right then, not to mention suffering from extreme heat exhaustion, that I actually heard the gold cat say something back to me:

_"I still fit. But she keeps me in special places now, where other people can't see me."_

"What the freaking fuck?" I mumbled. I set the necklace back on the windowsill and walked over to the sink, splashing a puddle of lukewarm water on my face. "Figures it's not cold," I said, under my breath.

Fuck. It was now or never.

I traipsed back into Brittany's bedroom. She was at the back of the notebook. She'd found it. Her eyes were full of tears and her long legs stood up, rising towards the sky to walk over to me.

I met her tears and immediately dropped my gaze to the floor. "It's super lame," I said.

"No, it's not. It's beautiful."

She jumped at me in a tackle hug, pulling me into her so tightly that it felt like I had two hearts.

"I can't say that stuff out loud," I muttered.

"I know," she whispered. "But when I read it, I could hear your voice in my head and it was like you were talking to me anyway. Your voice is really loud on paper."

I could feel everything again, her hair and her arms and her smile and her hug and her kiss. And it was better to feel something, even if it was only for a little while.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Anonymous,<em>

_I wish that I was as brave as you. I wish that I didn't care what everyone else thought. I wish that I didn't have to play the bitch. I wish that I was a better person. _

_I wish that I wasn't so scared of really living. I wish that I could live for real. I wish that little things didn't make me cry. I wish that I didn't have to yell at people instead of crying. I wish that I could look in the mirror and see what you see. I wish that I could love what you see._

_I wish that you knew how much I really loved you, enough to hold your hand ANYWHERE and kiss you ANYWHERE and say to ANYONE, "I love this girl more than the world." _

_And most of all, I wish that I could say out loud everything that I keep on the inside, cuz it's so damn dark in here. _

_But you're my brightest thing._

_- Santana_


End file.
